


Just For Tonight

by teamchaosprez



Series: Overwatch 1920s AU [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/F, First Meetings, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamchaosprez/pseuds/teamchaosprez
Summary: At a party in a makeshift saloon in New York City, war widow and flapper Amelie Lacroix meets former pilot and war veteran Lena Oxton.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this took way longer to write than it should've,, this is my first widowtracer fic and i really love this au, so if there's positive feedback i may make it a series!

The late summer sun dipped low against the tall New York buildings, sunset casting its red glow across the concrete jungle as Amelie loitered outside the party with her drink in hand. Perhaps she should have been a little more careful with how she flaunted the glass in her perfectly manicured fingers, but really, this street was a rarity in the city as it was quiet and normally unpatrolled - there would not be a big bash here if not. Curls tickled at her jaw courtesy of her short haircut, the feathers of her hairpiece teasing and tickling her right cheek, and she sighed heavily as she took another swig of booze and kept her attention to the blackening edges of the skyscrapers.

She was an oddity for a flapper in that she was an introvert. She’d come to the party with a wide array of friends and their boyfriends, but she was bracing herself for when she would have to actually enter and mingle with various lower to middle class Americans. It was bound to be exhausting - as much as she loved the fashion of her lifestyle and the ability to pretty much spit in the face of what was expected, she wasn’t much for strangers.

She really hadn’t been since Gerard died. Moving to America was out of necessity - desperation to escape her past and potentially not be tried for her own brainwashing were the main motivations there. She was, for the most part, glad that she’d done it; the friends she’d made here in New York were wonderful, and her life was far more exciting and interesting than it would have been if she was still living in Paris and married to her husband. But whenever she got a dirty look from the woman running the general store across the street, she couldn’t help but be self conscious and homesick.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t have time for this.

Amelie straightened from her slouched position and brushed away the little flecks of plaster that had begun to stick to the back of her dress before opening the door to the old building, sighing slightly as she was hit by the full noise of jazz music and chatter and the smell of a couple few sweaty people getting drunk. She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to come to this party; she wasn’t really in the mood. Maybe that would improve sometime in the next few hours… or maybe she’d get somebody to walk her home early. There was no way she was wandering the streets of New York at night by herself.

For the most part, she made a point of staying near her best friend, a Latina girl that went by the name Sombra. She could rely on not having to do anything as long as she was near her; when she was as drunk as she was getting to be, Sombra had a tendency to absorb any and all conversation and be among the most obnoxiously talkative people Amelie had ever met. It was alright when she didn’t feel like being sociable and ready to dance; not so much when it fell on the Frenchwoman to drag her home.

She also probably could have hung out near the bouncer Gabriel, an old friend of her husband’s and the man that tended to also show up at whatever party her group happened to be attending and had an intimidating and shadowy air to him that usually deterred any conversation making. But she wanted to  _ avoid _ people, not alienate them altogether, so Sombra was her best bet for the moment. Perhaps later in the night she’d need Gabe’s protection, though, so she kept an eye on where he was - not that she couldn’t handle herself in a fight, she just didn’t really want to break her classy reputation any further. People knew her as a sophisticated and attractive European woman, even if she didn’t stick to social norms, and she wanted to look at least somewhat vulnerable to keep her ladylike air about her.

Sombra offered a few times throughout the night to go with her to find a cab, but the more slurred her speech became the more Amelie refused. At about midnight, she lost sight of the younger woman altogether, and though she wasn’t necessarily  _ worried _ for her friend’s safety she was certainly annoyed that she had been effectively abandoned and left to the dogs.

Amelie sighed deeply and got her hands on another glass of wine somehow, pushing herself away from the wall in order to mingle in with the mass of people. This wasn’t an aristocrat’s party by any means, so there was significantly less class than she had become accustomed to aside from maybe the few drunken couples making an attempt to slow dance together near the band. Part of her wondered how her friend had gotten word of this; they usually only frequented the mansions on Long Island. Maybe the alcoholics of the group were getting desperate enough to go here.

The alcohol in question was starting to soothe her nerves considerably, so it was no longer out of the question for her to mingle and make small talk with whoever caught her attention. Names were given to her but forgotten, laughs were had and she no longer remembered what had been funny a few moments later. Amelie was, for all intents and purposes, drunk, and she was fairly content to be so; to get lost in the moment and not really worry about saying the wrong thing or getting caught while her guard was down. She was, for the first time since the last party, happy and carefree.

Until, of course, she felt a calloused hand brush up against the back of her thigh.

Amelie tensed and turned quickly to see who had just touched her, and found herself facing a rather grimy man with an uneven beard, giving her a somewhat creepy grin that showed off his missing teeth. Instinctively, she began to take a step backward, but found her waist caught as he wrapped his arm around her and yanked her a little closer. “What’s such a pretty thing doing in such a crass outfit?” he asked in a tone that made her shudder and try again to pull away.

“Keep your hands off of me,” she hissed, her accent ever so slightly thicker than usual as the man glanced her over as though she were a piece of meat. He ignored her, working one thumb under the thin strap of her dress, and she felt like throwing up or kneeing him in the crotch - or maybe both, with the former landing on his face.

“I never liked the flapper style,” the man scoffed as if he were ashamed of her, inching the strap off of her shoulder - no matter how fiercely she struggled, he had too good a grip on her. “What say we go to a more private place and get this off you?”

After a moment’s more squirming, she finally gathered up the willpower to bend her knee and drive it upwards between the man’s legs. He released her immediately with a pained yelp, and she wasted no time in shoving him to the ground and backing up several steps, though she still kept an eye on her assaulter, ready for a fight. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins and her heart thudded in her chest with all the strength of a drum, and she watched as he rose after a few seconds with a scowl on his face.

“Why you little--”

He threw a punch aimed at her face, and she ducked out of the way, ready to back off and disappear into the crowd to get away from this disgusting man. She was fairly blind to most of what was going on around her until a chipper Cockney accent blurted out beside her.

“Oi! Annie, luv! Haven’t seen you in ages! Causing trouble again, I see - what say you we have a dance, work some’a that wine off?”

The brunette woman that quickly stepped into the conflict and grabbed her by the arm startled her, and Amelie couldn’t help but be a little surprised by how quickly she was moved away from the scene. She blinked as an arm snaked around her waist -  _ much _ more gentle than the buffoon prior - and one of her hands was taken, but allowed herself to be led into a slow dance nonetheless.

“Looked like you were in a lil’ bit’a trouble. Are you alright?” the stranger spoke in a soft and quiet voice, and finally Amelie looked at her. She was just a couple of inches shorter, with messy short brown hair and bright hazel eyes hidden behind glasses. A splash of freckles adorned her cheeks and nose, and a pilot’s jacket hung around her torso. She had a kind, soft smile on her face, and although she would deny it later, Amelie felt her heart skip a beat.

“I could have handled it,” she responded simply, easing a little into the dance - resting one hand on the stranger’s shoulder and gently squeezing her hand with the other. After a moment, she felt guilty about giving such a dismissive and cold answer, so she added on.  “But thank you. It is probably best that you interfered before he could make a bigger scene.”

“Anytime, luv!” the woman responded, her smile brightening considerably. Amelie made an attempt to ignore the pink blush appearing against her pale cheeks, glancing down to pay attention to their feet moving against the scuffed wood of the floor instead. “My name’s Lena Oxton, by the way. Unless your name is actually Annie, mind telling me yours?”

Amelie snorted faintly, and one corner of her lips twitched upward into the vaguest hint of the smile - her good mood had been pretty ruined, but it looked like it could still be brought back. “You were close. My name is Amelie Lacroix. Pleased to meet you.”

As the song came to a close, Lena pulled her to the side and stood next to her against the wall - Amelie was a little relieved to be back to the edge of the party instead of in the middle of it. It certainly helped that she felt inexplicably safer and stabler around this stranger. “So, you’re from France, huh? What’re you doing here in the States? Isn’t Paris a little more romantic than New York?” Her tone was joking enough that Amelie didn’t feel bad in rolling her eyes.

“Bad memories, mostly. America seemed like the best way to get away from everything. What about you? You’re British, correct?” It only seemed right to redirect the question right back to her, and what remained of her drunkenness was still edging away the shyness that would usually hold her back.

“That I am, luv,” Lena replied with a slight bow, though her smile twitched slightly and Amelie automatically felt a little bad about asking. “I travelled the world for a lil’ while to try and get my mind off the war and a medical issue, but I got tired of spending time on the seas a while back and decided to settle down here about a month ago.” She shrugged, though her posture suggested that she may not be as casual about the whole thing as she was letting on. Amelie decided not to push it - she’d only just met this woman, and she didn’t want to chase her away by pressing too much too soon.

“Well, I’ve been here for about four years, so if you need anybody to show you around, I am available.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

* * *

 

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur until Amelie sobered up - she knew that she stuck around her new friend for the most part, but she wouldn’t be able to remember what they talked about even several years down the road. Lena was a very likable woman with a bright smile and a talent for making people (and herself) laugh, and even when the Frenchwoman found herself getting more sober, more quiet, and less talkative, she was still happy to carry on a conversation.

At some point, Lena suggested that they step outside for some fresh air, and the moment Amelie’s head became clear again was when they made their way to the cool air of a dirty New York City alleyway. Normally, their location would put her on edge, but at the moment she felt safe. Invincible.

Lena was very attractive. Her laughter was somewhat infectious - even for Amelie, who was stoic as often as she possibly could force herself to be unless she was drunk. She had a bright smile, and though her eyes were just as bright there was some sort of age behind them that suggested she had been through a lot. She was a pleasure to be around, wonderful to talk to, and now that they were alone Amelie was beginning to notice a slight increase in her heart rate… especially when the moon’s light illuminating Lena’s youthful face really became obvious. It was difficult to ignore the faint blush that appeared on Amelie’s pale cheeks, so she directed her attention to the concrete of the ground.

Her chest gave a faint lurch when Lena faced her and smiled, and for a moment all Amelie could feel was fear. She wasn’t supposed to feel this, never again; but she found some sort of solace in the thought that she had only just met the younger woman, and that she was probably only feeling attraction because she was still a little tipsy. So she smiled in return, paying no mind to the voice of reason in the back of her mind telling her to turn back and stop.

She could stand to edge away from reason a little and live life like she was drunk. Wasn’t that the entire reason she readily accepted the trend and title of a flapper? She was always careful, she was always too serious - Sombra made fun of her for that - so for once, she supposed there was no harm in letting her heart lead her just for tonight.

Just for tonight.

Amelie reached out and gently took hold of Lena’s shoulders, pulling the shorter woman towards her and pressing their lips together with more gentleness than even she had expected. She could feel Lena tense against her, and she was about to move back and apologize, but… before she could, the brunette wrapped her arms around her, fingertips pressing into her upper back as she tilted her head and deepened the kiss. Amelie couldn’t help but shiver as she backed Lena against the wall, taking great glee in the soft sound that the younger woman made against her lips. The reasonable part of her mind was starting to edge away slightly, and damn if she wasn’t enjoying it. 

Lena ran one hand up her neck and gently balled her fist in her hair, giving a light tug - and Amelie didn’t object, finding herself enjoying the sensation of slight pain in her scalp too much. She didn’t pull back for air until she absolutely needed to, and the only sounds in the alley were the occasional car moving past on the distant street and the greedy gulps for air between the two women. Amelie found that Lena was, in fact, more beautiful with her face flushed and flustered and her short hair slightly disheveled where it had been pressed against the wall. 

An image of her dead husband flashed through her mind, his gentle smile and then his blood on her hands and staining her nightgown.

For the first time since his death, she pushed it down.

“Wanna go somewhere a lil’ more private?” Lena asked in a hushed tone, and Amelie didn’t need to guess much what the hungry look in her eyes meant. A tug in her chest urged her to continue, and so she did, pressing another kiss against the younger woman’s lips and then several against her jaw, her neck, and a chaste one against her cheek. A smirk appeared on her face of her own accord.

“I think, for now, this should work.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments would be appreciated if you can. thanks for reading xx
> 
> quick explanation: amelie is perfectly capable of fighting but she prefers not to, mostly because flappers were generally looked down upon back in the 20s and she doesn't want to get rid of what being attractive and french lends her in regards to reputation. she also wants to be underestimated just in case gerard's death comes back to bite her in the form of being arrested.


End file.
